The Road Is Long
by NorthernStar
Summary: Coda to Fear and Loathing in the Milky Way.


Disclaimer: Andromeda and characters are the property of Tribune

Disclaimer: Andromeda and characters are the property of Tribune. Infringement is not intended nor has any money been made from this. 

Disclaimer: Andromeda is the property of Tribune. 

Rating: PG –13 (for sexual references)

Summary: Harper thoughts after 'Fear and Loathing…'

Notes: Harper's reactions (to the bar scene) struck me as a little odd and this is the result. I know this is *very* late for American viewers, but us Brits have only just seen it.

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The Road Is Long

By NorthernStar

Harper ran his fingers through his damp hair, brushing the wet snarls from his forehead and shivered despite the humidity of the Garden. The warm air of the Hydroponics did little to keep away the coldness he felt inside him.

Just as the shower he'd taken a few minutes ago had done little to wash off the dirt he could feel on his soul…

His chest tightened painfully, heavy with unshed sobs. But he wasn't going to give in this time. He wasn't going to cry…

But, moments later, he felt wetness on his cheek and he brushed the single, traitorous tear away angrily, clamping his jaw to force back any others.

No. No tears. He had no reason. This was just any other wakeful night he'd spent in the Garden, after just another ordinary day. And that had been just an ordinary, everyday moment in the bar; girl flirts with guy…

And he just had an ordinary shower…

__

Yeah right…

She wants me… His own startled voice echoed in his head, _she_ **_really_** _wants_ _me_. He remembered the way her eyes fixed on his face a moment, then raked across his body appreciatively. He had stared at her; nervous of the desire openly displayed on her face. His own responding gaze, full of surprise and something that had almost felt like hope. And then…just on the fringes of his awareness, the terrible slow blooming deep in his gut…loathing.

He didn't want to be looked at like that. A deep, but poorly hidden corner of himself couldn't handle such things. And it couldn't take the chance she'd see what he really was… that he was…_dirty_.

Dirty Mudfoot… Dirty Earthboy… dirty…

Trance's sweet voice had broken the spell a moment later when the woman claimed she liked her men 'strong and silent' and the purple alien had commented she wouldn't like Harper in that case. The memory of her words hurt, had Trance been referring to his constant chatter? Or did she know the truth?

That Seamus Zelazny Harper wasn't strong… 

He had felt relief when Gerentex had told him of the woman's real intentions, caring nothing for whether it had been the truth or not. It was a lifeline, a tenuous one he intended to hold on to. She hadn't wanted him anymore than he had truly wanted to face the reality of a situation like that. He remembered going to follow her, and Trance stopping him; the ease with which he'd let her talk him into standing at her side while she gambled, doing little but watch her win game after game. 

Harper flinched at the memory, forcing it away. No, there had been no chance to exorcise his demons and he had not run from them. And they had not beaten him once again.

More tears streaked his face and he dashed them violently off his cheeks. He wasn't going to cry like a pathetic weakling. There was nothing to cry about.

Old, bitter memories flashed… The river…the face of the Nietzschean who… He gasped as if water had been thrown in his face and his heart raced inside his chest. He shook his head to rid himself of the images… and succeeding through long practice. But the knowledge hovered, and the feelings they brought would never fade.

He was still that child. A part of him would always be that child, crying in the darkness. And it never wanted to be touched, or comforted, or nurtured. 

And it was then that he gave in to the sobs, letting them out, no longer caring. He was weak. He'd been weak as a child, and he was weak now. Running from the truth that was so clear to everyone. He wasn't worthy of the things others took for granted, like love and physical closeness. He would never be complete, never be close to another sexually without…without _this_… 

Even that one, brief chance in the bar had tore away the fragile barrier covering what was still an open wound. It would always be an open wound; there was no healing. It was a long and bitter road to travel.

He had taken refuge in the idea that it hadn't been his choice not to pursue an encounter. 

But for this moment at least, in the midst of his tears, he knew the truth…

~~FINIS~~ 

© T S "NORTHERN STAR" FENN


End file.
